Morning After The Night Before
by Maevenly
Summary: Hermione's had a really bad day. Waking up, her morning is only going to become more interesting. A lot of porn, a very little bit of plot, and a heaping helping of AU - as it should be! After all, it's Draco/Hermione


Author's Notes:

So, yeah - my Draco/Hermione kick continues! This is a story I've used for other characters. With a little bit of tweaking, I've now made it Draco/Hermione. What's not to love about that?

Love to know what you think of it!

Much Fondness!

Maevenly

PS - This is best read as if Hermione channelled a bit of Bridget Jones...

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><p><strong>Morning After The Night Before:<strong>

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><p>Oh Merlin – this is not my pillow! Bugger off – this is not my bed!<p>

Okay.

Relax.

_This is not as bad as you think._

First things, first: open your eyes.

Close them! Close them!

Bloody Hell! Pain – agony! Light from a hundred sodding suns is in the same room!

Okay.

_Breathe_.

Bloody hell! What is that smell?

_Stop thinking! Stop thinking! Thinking makes dizzies._

Okay. Can't think, can't breathe through nose, and can't see. What's left? Groaning pathetically?

Ooh! Groaning is good! Groaning is VERY good! Groaning is… motivating! Motivating me to… Eeee-gads! Stop thinking! More dizzies! Okay – I get it, I get it. Resume groaning.

Good, groaning. Nice groaning. Groaning is my friend.

Okay – try this: while groaning, turn head to the side and rest cheek against pillow. I can do that.

_WAIT_!

What?

_Remember to keep to head attached to shoulders and not let it roll off the bed and across the room._

Okay, okay – here I go.

It worked! Head moved, eyes stayed shut and nothing bounced onto the floor. Success!

_Now, crack your eyes just a little…_

Oh hell! What is that? There is a big, brightly coloured, tumour growing out of my shoulder!

_Okay. Don't panic. Whatever you do, don't panic. You can do this. Just reach up and touch it._

Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! It's hairy!

Hang on – who ever heard of a 'hairy' tumour? Great. Six billion people in the world and I'm the only one with a bright, hairy tumour growing out of her collar bone.

_Relax._

Okay.

There are Healers for these kinds of things. Or, I'll find a doctor.

Okay. Solved. Done. Business with the hairy tumour is settled.

Ooh! What about this? What if I groaned really long and, in the process, pushed myself up-right at the same time?

I can do that – with a lot of groaning.

Okay. On the count of three, I'm going to do this.

One: where are my fingers?

Two: find arms and lock elbows.

Three: breathe in stinkiness and…

Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!

Hairy tumour is not a tumour! Found my fingers – they're resting against the groove of a warm, bare, back. Muscular back is attached to hairy tumour! Hairy tumour just breathed on my neck!

Okay. Relax. This is not as bad as it seems.

_Oh yeah?_

I can do this. Trace his back, follow his spine. See if…?

_Yep. He's naked._

BOLLOCKS!

Oh hell! Am I?

Double bullocks!

Did we?

_Yep. Can't you tell? Every part of you between your chest and your knees feels like it's taken a go with a butter-churner._

Wait a minute. When did I start talking to my self in the second person? Bugger that – when did I start answering myself in the second person?

Dizzies! Dizzies! I can feel the rotation of the earth seeping through the mattress. Stop bloody thinking! Remember: thinking bad, groaning good.

Hold on – have I actually groaned? Out loud, I mean? Oh yeah – led to the discovery of former hairy tumour growing out of my shoulder, now apparent sex god, still imbedded inside my now very tender, private places.

Okay – onto Plan B.

Find other set of fingers. Move second set of fingers. Fingers are entwined through something. Seem to be tangled among some rather nice, silky, hairs. They feel… nice. Smooth and fluid, the ends are prickling the undersides of my fingernails.

Oooh! Progress! I've discovered that I have fingernails!

Okay. This is nice and no groaning required. Nice, light strokes. Up and down, back and forth, nice abstract patterns… Good Godric! Stomach sinking and rising!

Don't puke! Please don't let me puke! _Don't puke_!

Why did I drink so much last night?

Wait?

Who says I drank last night? When did I have pints after shots of Firewhiskey while out with friends? They are not friends; they are anti-friends. Friends would not let you do this to yourself. Friends would get you laid but not so pissed you couldn't remember said act. Wicked, wicked friends indeed! Note to self: must remember to get new, non-anti-friends as soon as possible.

Okay.

Relax.

You can do this.

Without puking? Not likely. So many smells, too small a place.

_Okay. You have to get up. You have to get out – before he wakes up. _

Why?

_Do you really want to be here when he wakes up?_

He? Who is 'he'?

_He's what was formerly referred to as the Big, Bright, Hairy, and Breathing Tumour, now dubbed Apparent Sex God._

No. I mean it. Who is he?

_You don't know?_

You mean _you_don't?

_Oh Merlin – you've done it now! He's moving. He's waking up! TOO LATE!_

Oh whoever-you-are – don't squish me! Please – don't vibrate the mattress too much!

_He's pulling his head off of your shoulder. _

Okay. Battle plan time.

_Breathe through your mouth. Keep your eyes closed and your head turned to the side. If you don't look at him, you still have a chance at denying that this ever happened – you never saw a thing. Above all else – DON'T PUKE!_

He's looking at me! I can feel it. He's going to say something.

"Hey."

The lad is a bona-fide Chatty Cathy. And has really bad breath. At least he didn't ask, 'if it was good for me'. That's fecking evident, even to me.

Mmmm… Nice. He is rolling his hips and pressing in and up at the same time. More than nice, actually he's quite good at that. I wonder if the boy knows more than one language.

"Nice smile. Ready to go again?"

He's shifting, rising up. His breath hit all the right spots in my ear and on my neck. His voice is nice, too – husky and deep.

Dilemma. He knows I'm a wake. He knows I like what he is doing. Not to mention that opening one's legs but not one's mouth could be considered rude – right? If I turn my head and open my eyes at the same time maybe I can –

Damn! I forgot to groan!

The light of a thousand sodding suns and the rotations of all nine planets and every one of their moons are pulling at every square inch of stomach.

"Puking! Now!"

For the record, Side-Along Apparition is highly over-rated when one is about to puke one's guts out. And, as much as we girls talk about how a real man would hold a woman's hair back while said female puked her guts out, the honest truth is this: the LAST thing any of us want is someone nearby while vile, angry noises come from our throats, our bodies freeze and lock as the heaving takes over, and chunks of chocolate cupcake we ate at lunch stick to the sides of the toilet bowl. Guys aren't supposed to know that women eat junk food. It's bad enough that they know we fart.

Can't sense him hovering over me. Good. Can focus on breathing and ignoring the way my throat hurts. Can't spare the energy making him go away if I am to keep the searing brightness from permanently scarring my brain. On second thought, where is he?

Damn! Thinking again – with out groaning. Oh holy, hell! Round two!

The cereal I had for breakfast redeemed a round trip ticket from my stomach to my mouth. I might be wrong, but I think my shoes just came out of my mouth as well. Damn – I really liked those shoes too.

Merlin, I smell bad. Tears and snot and puke are all over my face and dripping down onto my chest. Gross! Even my arms are sweating from all the bucking. Who knew someone could shiver from cold and feel like they're over-heating at the same time?

Okay.

Finished puking, now's the time for a new plan.

Flush toilet. Squeeze eyes shut. Brace nasty, sweaty arms on toilet rim, flex and transfer body from floor to sink. Done. Glance at self in mirror above said sink. Lovely. I'm the cover model for Perfectly Poised Princess Weekly. Next, lower one's forehead onto environmentally condemned upper arm. Reach out for the cold water tap…

Wave of knee-buckling dizziness was not part of the plan. Oh Merlin! I'm going to fall!

No. Wait. Caught by a pair of long arms and pulled against a nicely tall, decidedly male, body. Hair is hanging in my face so I can't see him, but he can't see me either: good call. But, looking down, I can see an arm across my middle. He has skills – he's holding me up without squeezing me. The paper cup in his other hand is being pressed into mine.

"Swish – don't swallow – understand?"

This man is a sex god _and _a humanitarian.

The purifying minty goodness of mouthwash flows around my teeth. The second dose he offers me feels even better as my tongue shrinks from completely filling my mouth to just resting against the roof of my mouth.

The sound of cascading water and the wafting of a fine mist in the air are making me tremble. Getting in the stall might be beyond me – even if I groan piteously and extensively.

"Shower time."

"I don't think…"

"You can do this."

Damn - authoritative much?

He's right. The water hitting my front is slightly cooler than normal and feels so good against my prickly skin. At my back are the hard planes of his thighs, stomach and chest, which are keeping me from being too cold. He's guiding my face into the stream. I rinse my mouth one more time. Tipping my neck back, his shoulder is just the right height for my heavy head to rest against as the horrible day, drinking, dancing and the night's debauchery swirl around the drain.

'The night's debauchery'? Drama much, Granger? Great. I can now add 'rolling my eyes at myself' to my list.

Which ward at St. Mungo's should I sign myself into?

Okay. So my day sucked. But, in my defense, at the time, consuming consecutive series of fermented beverages did not make it any worse. For some reason, the memory of sponsoring an all-male wet t-shirt and the ensuing bragging rights comes to mind. It's the 'afterwards', when payment comes due, and right now I don't have a knut to my name. But, this shower is lovely. The guy's not half bad either: sex god, humanitarian and washer-upper of one-night-shags.

"Close your eyes."

I thought about telling him that the only times my eyes have been opened were the split-seconds when I saw 'The Return of the Chocolate Cupcake' and the cover-shot to Princess Weekly. But the clean smell of shampoo makes me smile – again. Strong fingers spreading the stuff from my forehead to my temples and from my temples to the very ends of my hair – I can feel myself bending and twisting my neck in whatever angle I think he needs to do the job properly.

"Tilt your head into the spray."

He's curt but he's also a gentleman; another item to add to the list. His hands pushing my shoulders forward so the suds could leave my hair didn't slide front for a gratuitous breast groping.

He is trailing one hand down my right arm, lifting it and placing it on the curtain rod. My left hand, he's pressing my palm flat against the wall of the shower.

"Stay there."

The man knows what he is doing! Spinning soap in his hands, creating a rich lather, before smoothing the clean-smelling cleanser all over my body in long, even strokes.

"Turn around."

Mini steps – no spinning! – have me placing both hands in front of me. The pads of my fingers press against the back wall of the shower, I drop my chin to my chest.

More moans than groans. Ooh! Moans are MUCH nicer than groans! SPLENDID! His hand movements on my back, bum and legs are generous with out being lewd. Attention paid to my tenderest places isn't clinical or cock-happy. It's… almost reverent. Evocative of what happened earlier without being demanding. More like he's giving me a reminder without the reprimand.

He's cut the water. He's helping me out of the shower.

_Oh Merlin, the light…_

"Too bright."

"Done."

The bathroom is now wonderfully dim.

"_Propexum Exporerrectum_."

Whatever he said, it made my hair smooth and tangle-free. A gentle, whirling, warm – breeze? – is wrapping around my body, heels to head. It's a drying spell.

Sweet Godric, this man has been trained well.

Even the bedroom candles were all but extinguished.

Gripping his forearm for support, all I can smell is the subtle aroma of melting beeswax from the two small votives left lit on the mantle. The signature scents left behind by the visiting of numerous bars, the reek of stale alcohol, and two people making wild, crazy monkey-love is gone.

Where did he find fresh bedclothes?

Bag the training – this man graduated from Boyfriend School with full honours.

_Wild, crazy monkey-love? Oh Merlin…_

Okay. Deep breath. Look up.

Good. No nail marks on the rafters. Guess there's something to be said for 'small favours' after all.

Resume breathing.

Hmmmm… Choices… Decisions…

Hot, sexy, nameless, faceless, naked guy standing behind me is holding me upright. Naked, lustful, totally turned on, not-nearly-so-drunk-but-still-quite-buzzed, newly clean woman with needs that need to be met, standing half way between the door and a freshly made bed.

Question is: do I do something about it now or do I take care of myself later?

I know – each could be equally satisfying, especially if perceived sex-god turns out to be a 'one-trick pony' with a fancy saddle.

Paranoia 101 – yep, I'm still intoxicated but elements of my personality are seeping back into my internal repertoire.

What was that I said – slurred – to Ginny, Tracy Davis and Natalie MacDonald when we left that first pub? The first nameless, faceless, and question-free guy was going to be the winner.

"My turn."

His turn? Huh? Why are my legs being shifted apart? What does that have to do with 'a turn'?

OOOHH! _Now_I get it.

The lad _does_speak a second language!

Let me help him with his 'diction'. Proper enunciation is very, very, important.

If I hold onto his shoulder with one hand, lift the opposite leg onto the side of the bed and tilt my pelvis like _this_, that leaves me a hand free to toy with my breasts and nipples… These are the kind of dizzies I want more of!

Damn! - this man is a VERY cunning linguist!

Oh Merlin! Where did he learn _that_?

Moaning. Can't think… Moaning more.

Grasping my breast harder. Knees are going to give way!

I can feel his muscles underneath my fingers, and his hand is splayed out across my lower back, not letting me fall, keeping me in perfect position for...

Starbursts! Flashes of light! BLOODY HELL!

Is that one finger – or three? What the MERLIN is he doing with his tongue! If he goes _there_, then I'm going to…

Convulsing. Trembling. Crying out. Clenching and releasing fistfuls of his shoulder.

Is he… laughing? No – not that. More like well paced, partner-centred 'humphs' of self-impressed male pride are being puffed against my sopping wetness.

Let's see if this winner is ready for the bonus round, heh?

Like the way I change positions and am scratching at your chest? That's right – I'm turning you around and walking you backwards. Fabulous – nipples are at a perfect height for nipping. As well as providing a tasty distraction as I move you back to the bed.

Let me see if I can play connect-the-goose pimples with my tongue across and down your stomach as I sink down and let the carpet cushion my knees.

My, my, my… how interestingly your thighs tremble when all I do is blow hot, moist air across your 'boys'. I wonder what would happen if I did…

"Sweet _Morgana_!"

Hmmm… love the way you fell back on the bed and let your knees fall slack for me. Gives me more room to… Explore. Tantalize. Graze the underside of you with my nails. Snaking out my tongue, to do _this_…

I can think of better things for you to grab onto than the bedclothes, my new friend.

So, if I wrapped my fingers around you like _this_ and did _this_…

Your hands are _definitely_better used buried in my hair than squeezing the stuffing out of the quilt. What's the quilt going to do for you?

"It is going to soak up every drop that I'm going to draw out of you." His words are forced over his teeth, but even I cannot miss the promise imbedded within.

Sodding Legilimens. Occlumency skills, what Occlumency skills? I can feel a wicked smile come over me as I conjure a specific image in my mind.

Nice response time. Guess you liked that – didn't you?

What do you think of _this_position?

And here I was thinking that it would be impossible for you to get any harder.

"Minx!"

Talking with my mouth full – that would be rude – but I can summon a fantasy that I have wanted to enact for years.

"Done!"

I can barely understand what he said, his word was so guttural. But finding myself lifted up and off him, nothing was lost in translation as to what was going to happen next. Nor is the way he is scooting, back on the bed, taking me with him, contradicting my thoughts.

Being lifted up high and impaled onto his length in one crashing, downward pull nearly knocked the wind out of me. Nearly. The rest of me is experiencing sexual overload for the first time – probably for the second time but anything that happened earlier is still a blur.

"You want to have your…"

"Yes."

He's slamming up into me as hard as I'm crashing down on him. My inner voice is chanting in-time to our cadence: a-maze-ing, a-maze-ing.

"Do you know what that-"

"-means?" The fact that I finished his question told him I knew exactly what I wanted.

Sensation after sensation… I don't know if I can keep my perch. "Merlin, this feels so good!"

His hands are filled with my breasts, his fingers pinching all the right places. Sodding Legilimens. I'm so wicked. I like that fact that I don't have to tell him how I like to be touched. All I have to do is show him.

The way his breath is coming up short and his thrusts have transitioned into deep jabs are tell-tale signs he is as far-gone as I am. I'm posting again; my hair is flung far down my back.

"Now."

He's on the verge – I can feel it.

"Look at me now!"

For the first time all night, I see who has been pushing my body beyond any point I have ever experienced in my life. For the first time, I am seeing the only man I have ever invited – begged – to make love to my **s o u l. **

My gasp is too late – I'm already on my back and he is firmly re-seated.

My bright brown eyes are locked onto his grey. I'm falling up.

Every downward thrust, every thigh-to-thigh impact is raising me higher. I can feel him – everywhere: in the back of my chest, underneath my toenails. I'm drowning in emotions and sensations. I'm still clapping my body against his. Our pace is faster, harder and bruising. Literally. But we are beyond pleasure. We are beyond pain. We are – somewhere else. He is in that scary place in the back of my mind where all my insecurities dwell. He is in the place where my happiest memories rejoice. He is…

Oh Merlin! Something… Something is happening…

It is… It is…_b e a u t i f u l _.

A lifetime of feelings and emotions are cascading around me. It's nearly overwhelming.

People, places, things I have never seen are in my mind, wrapped up in the sparkling explosion of the most intense orgasm ever to have wracked my body, soul and mind.

Fragments of thoughts not my own sound in my ears, embarrassing moments belonging to the man above me are blending and merging with my own joys and sorrows. We are the same – he and I – and yet we are separate. Separated by gender, by experiences – but we are the same.

My inner self is silent in her projected, howling orgasm. It's her first and it has swept her out of her safe little realm and forefront into what makes me, me.

I can see him – his eyes and face as our souls touch, intertwine and stay connected. His back is arched, his pelvis is still driving my body into the mattress – he is beyond himself.

He is here, with me: outside of our room above the Leaky Cauldron, beyond the confines of any physical location.

We are together, in front of a backdrop of a golden sky pin-pricked by the constellations of the stars. We are standing still, facing each other, naked.

Our eyes see nothing but each other. I raise my right hand, palm flat and facing him. He presses his right hand flat against mine, his long fingers extending beyond my own. He raises his left hand – a proposal of sorts – palm flat and facing me. With infinite grace, I lift my arm, uncurl my fingers and, section by section, mould my hand to his. Something sears my left wrist at the same time as it marks his left wrist

Magic holds us – it is bonding us, branding us to each other. The very elements are sweeping around us. Everything is here, in front of me, in front of him, around us. Pulses of power are pulling at us. Second, third and fourth orgasms rip through us both, the light is encompassing. Our cries are one: his deep, incomprehensible shouts merging with my feminine wails of pleasure and soul-lifting freedom.

Oh Merlin! Can't… take… much… more… don't… want… to … stop…

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><p>"Knock it off."<p>

"Huh? Knock what off?"

"Your heart – it's beating too fast. It's keeping me awake." A silly, you-have-just-been-shagged-within-one-inch-of-your-life-grin spoils my scolding.

"Oh yeah? Try smelling sexy-woman smells. That'll keep your eyelids open." His voice is hoarse, like it's been overused. The deep timbre is sensual and the truth in his eyes tells me his is biding his time until he's 're-loaded'.

I can't resist. Nor can I keep the mischievous twinkle out of my eyes. "To see when she's going to shower and be powder-fresh?"

"Bollocks on that – I want to keep my lady smelling like me for as long as possible." His eyebrow arch is a match for my twinkle. "Manly honour and all that."

Somehow, I'm nestled on his shoulder. We're still pressed together from hip to thigh. Our left hands are still locked together, palms flat against one another and fingers intertwined.

"Wow."

No need to exclaim what we both know.

"Wow."

The fact that I don't hear anything more than reverence about what just occurred tells me he is equally moved.

"Malfoy?"

"Yeah, Granger?"

"I saw you, you know."

Silence.

"You were there, following me. All night, in fact." The images were fast and furious, but when we connected, I saw him, looking out for me, no matter where I went, no matter what I did, he was there. I must have known it somewhere in my chemically fogged brain.

More silence. But his heart rate hasn't dropped either.

"Can I tell you something?" I'm looking at his chest, tracing abstract patterns on the underlying muscles, and I'm suddenly feeling self-conscious for the first time all night. Morning?

Strong fingers are lifting up my chin. Grey eyes are open, unguarded, and re-assuring.

"Boundaries have ever been a part of our relationship." He must have seen the hurt creeping into my eyes. He continued, gently. "As of tonight, a lot of those have ceased to exist." Running a hand through my hair, he said, "Tell me."

"Some how, the fact that it was _you_doesn't make me regret any of it."

A light kiss from those wonderful lips had me smiling against his teeth.

A warming sensation had me looking away from his face and down at my wrist. Runes in some language I've never seen are wrapped around my wrist.

Hold on – when did I have time to get a tattoo last night?

"It's not a tattoo, Princess. Think about it." A light smile is touching his now serious eyes.

I gotta buy myself some time to figure it out. "What does it read?"

Turning my wrist gently, he translated. "It's an ancient Assyrian san-script. It's my family motto, written in the colors of your aura, Hermione." He held up his own wrist for me to inspect. "See – I've got it, too. Your personal runes written in the colors of the Malfoy family crest."

I should be terrified. I should be scrambling back into my clothes and fleeing the scene, but I'm not.

"It's an Eternal Bond, isn't it?"

"Our lives are now bound together in a way the whole Wizarding World can see. And yes – it is more significant than a Marriage Mark."

Stirring, twisting a bit so that I can rest my chin just below the pulse point at the base of his neck, ramifications have yet to sink into my sated body and mind and storm-swept soul. Questions, ideas, thoughts, and concepts have formed one big ball and have taken aim at my Attention Span. So much to process…

"Hermione?"

"Yeah?" Sleep is beckoning to me.

"We have a lot to talk about."

Tiredness has crept into his voice, but the man is right. There is A LOT that needs to be settled – beyond what's happened tonight.

"I know, Draco." Somehow, my cheek has found its way to lean against his shoulder. "Tomorrow?" My one word is a promise.

A kiss falls on the top of my head as he shifts us both into a spooning position. A heavy arm drapes across my stomach. It's really, really, nice.

"Tomorrow."

The End

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><p>I've noticed something VERY interesting...<p>

There's a lot of room for additional chapters.

Like, what happened prior to them ending up at The Leaky Cauldron?

What happens next, when their friends and family see the Bond? What is the Bond? What affect would an Eternal Bond have on them?

So, my question to you is this: is anyone - myself excluded - interested in writing any of that?


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